I'm not properly existing, lately. Every breath is a conscious effort, and I question the choice to expend that effort every time I do. The world feels liminal and unreal. I'm experiencing my life in third person and simply a witness to all my actions instead of the perpetrator of them. I judge all the things this proxy of myself does, not necessarily feeling self loathing, but a deep and profound disappointment and second hand embarrassment. I feel I talk too much, but silence is so often uncomfortable. When I do talk, it's either supremely shallow small talk or it's constant complaining of how functionally fucked up I am. I want to explain and defend myself, but I feel like I can't without giving the full context of how I became the person I am, but then it feels like I'm using my past as an excuse and being manipulative or disingenuous to others about how much it affects me. I feel guilt for just existing. And I'm very exhausted by it.